


Summer storm

by NightingaleSong



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Making Up, Rain, Smut, angryBatch, soakedBatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightingaleSong/pseuds/NightingaleSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedict walks out into the rain during an argument.  What will happen when he returns home, soaked and still angry?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on a prompt from the lovely Rebecca.

"Where is it?" The complaint came from the bedroom, voice gruff and worryingly audible over the rumble of the boiling kettle.

"Where's what?" I replied, dropping tea bags into two mugs and hoping there was enough milk. The rain hammered against the windows, the summer storm brewing along with the tea. I could feel the tension building in my temples, the first flickers of a headache darting behind my eyes.

"My suit. The navy Spencer Hart. The one that was at the dry cleaners?" he was still shouting from the bedroom.  I poured the last of the milk into the mugs and carried them carefully across the flat to the bedroom doorway.

"Uh, probably still at the dry cleaners?" I held out a mug and he glared at my confusion.

"But I texted you!" Raising his arms in a shrug of annoyance, he ignored the tea completely. "This afternoon. I asked you to pick it up. Today. I need it tomorrow evening and I have no time during the day." 

"I didn't get your message." The headache was definitely building now, along with a sudden spike of irritation. "I was actually working all day, and then I had a meeting until six. Not that you didn't know that." I turned as he stomped past and followed him into the living room, setting the mugs onto the coffee table hard enough that the tea sloshed over the sides and formed small beige puddles on the polished wood.  Truly riled now, I didn't even bother to hide my exasperation. "What about Emily? or Karon? Surely one of your team could have done it rather than me. You're not the only one of us who works hard you know."

"Oh, don't make this about you!" he spat caustically, "Once. Fucking hell! I ask you to do something one time and you go on about how busy you are?"  He was pacing now, body all hard lines, muscles drawn, his hands moving vigorously though the back of his hair. Anger and exhausted energy radiated from him; a dam about to burst. "Christ. Now I'll have to liaise to get something else. This is all I fucking need."

"Ben," I began, trying to stem the approaching flood. "I'm sure it will be fine to wear something different. Just message them in the morning." I reached out a hand, placing it on his arm in an attempt to soothe but he ripped himself away, grabbing his cigarette packet off the arm of the sofa and turning it over and over between his long, agile fingers.

"No," he thundered, "it won't be _fine._ I don't have time to get it changed and that is what I am expected to wear. If only things were so bloody simple. Can't you understand that at all?"

"I understand," I replied tightly, my hands curling into the smooth leather of the armchair I was standing behind, knuckles whitening as I fought back hot tears of frustration and anger, my headache now pounding a steady beat through my skull, "that you are tired, overworked and need a rest. This is your third event this week on top of rehearsals. It's crazy. Don't you think it's taking a huge toll on you, on your work? On us?"

He stared for a long moment. "It's how it has to be right now," furrowing his brow he continued, voice controlled and icy, "and don't you ever tell me it's taking a toll on my work. I put every ounce of my body and soul into every single character.  Maybe it's just you can't accept that." With that he swept up his lighter before leaving the room and slamming the door so hard it shook in the frame while he thudded down the stairs.

"Fucking arrogant arsehole," I shouted after him, needing to release at least some pent up negative energy. My words echoed impotently back at me through the oppressive humidity of the empty space.  Roughly grabbing the still steaming mugs of tea, I marched into the kitchen and tipped them down the sink. The sky was black, rain almost torrential but still the storm hadn't broken. "Hope you get soaked, you wanker." I muttered as the mugs clanked harshly together in the dishwasher tray. 

Hands shaking, I poured a tall glass of water and swallowed some painkillers. I knew I needed to do something physical to offset the tears of annoyance that still threatened to overwhelm my fragile composure.   The sultry atmosphere of the flat was becoming too much to bear, my dress felt clingy and uncomfortable and I could almost feel the crackle of static on my skin.  I found myself listening in hope for the first rumble of thunder that would signal its release.

With no indication of either tension coming to an end in the immediate future, there was only one thing to do. Swiping my door keys from their hook I also left the flat, gasping as the cool rain pelted my clammy skin. Not caring that I was almost immediately soaked, I started an unhurried walk down the road, a part of me viciously hoping that Ben had forgotten his own key and would return whilst I was out.  I had no idea where he had gone, my best guess was that he was on the Heath where he could walk and smoke and think.

 

 

I was glad of my obviously still grim countenance as I paid for the milk in the small store.  The owner gave me a nervous nod of recognition but made no mention of my sodden clothes, or the hair that had to be plastered in rats tails down my neck. I swiped a hand to wipe a drip off the end of my nose before picking up the plastic container and leaving with as much poise as I could muster.

There was still no sign of him when I arrived home.  I put the milk into the fridge before going back into the living room and pushing open the large French doors onto the roof terrace in a bid to clear some of the stuffiness that had built up whilst I'd been out.  The sky, if anything, appeared even blacker, the rain faster and heavier as I stepped out into it once more.  The relentless rhythm eased my mind and my still aching head; fresh and invigorating in a way I desperately craved.  I lifted my chin and let it cascade over my face, bouncing and pooling in the clefts between my neck and clavicles before it spilled under the vee neckline of my dress and between my breasts.  I smiled. There it was, a distant, low rumble. The oncoming storm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, so sorry. Please don't hate me. If I hadn't broken it here, the chapter would have been way too long ;)

_One ... two ... three ..._ due to the downpour, I had missed the sound of his footsteps on the stairs and the metallic scrape of the key in the door to the flat, but I counted the seconds after I heard the clunk of it closing; listened to the timbre of footfall to try to gauge if his boiling rage had cooled or merely simmered. I kept myself deliberately turned away, looking out over the roofs of the houses on the road running perpendicular to ours. Watched as lights were turned on and windows shut against the growing breeze and focused on the sight of torrents of water pouring down slates, overwhelming gutters, gushing like waterfalls to the ground below .... _ten ... eleven ... twelve ..._

"What the hell are you doing out there?"  I turned at the voice that was still tainted by irritation. He stood just inside the room, bracketing his weight on his left arm, his hand pressed against the doorframe.  Even through the tension the sight of him took my breath away. His sodden navy t-shirt clung mercilessly to the solidity of his torso, enhancing the rise and sweep of gently defined musculature, the hint of chill-hardened nipples, the broadness of his strong shoulders.   Toned bicep muscles rippled under sparkling rivulets as the water dripped from his rain-darkened hair and ran gracefully down his long arms. I could hardly tear my eyes away from the landscape of his body, the perfect topology of his form.

"Clearing my head." I jutted my chin up, unable to hide a hint of defensiveness in response to his tone.  "Did you clear yours?" He didn't move. The wall of water between us hummed with a mixture of atmospheric and emotional energy, an ocean so small yet apparently unnavigable.  There was another rumble, closer, louder and he turned away, back taut as he crossed the living room and entered the bedroom.

 

I focused on my breathing ... in ... out ... a counterpoint rhythm to the constant barrage of rain hitting my skin like a drum on the outside and my pounding heart thumping within. With the syncopation of the next rumble rolling in waves close enough to feel, I followed him inside.  The wind had picked up and the temperature dropped as the storm front edged ever nearer.  My soaked dress had begun to feel cold and uncomfortable as it hugged my body, clinging heavily against my skin.  I padded, dripping and chilled into the bedroom, where Ben stood, arms folded and still in his wet clothes, staring out of the bay window.  "It's really what you think, isn't it?" he began quietly but determinedly, eyes focused on the terrace of houses opposite, "that my work  is taking over, becoming burdensome.  I make what time I can for us, but maybe it isn't enough. Maybe none of it is enough." Turning, he glared, eyes reddened, fingers gripping his elbows. "These events. They're necessary. You know I don't always want to attend. It's a part of the circus I have to perform in. I thought you understood that."

"You know I do, Ben!" I shouted back, pinching the bridge of my nose as my anger finally broke in hot waves of  frustration. "You know I support you every bloody step of the way. I always have and I know how your mind works. Please, just think for a moment. This, how you're being, isn't actually about the suit. It's not even about another high profile event.  This is about you not being able to get out of your own head. You are working so hard that you're paralysed, consumed by that Danish prince and your crazy rehearsal schedule, and me not picking up your fucking suit is not going to change that."  Finally moving away from the window, he stalked around the end of the bed, his saturated hair lying unusually straightened against his head bringing out his ethereal otherness; all almond eyes and regal cheekbones. Even in anger he was beautiful.  A sudden shiver ran through me, whether from the cold material closeting my chilled skin or the power of the man before me I couldn't tell. "I'm going for a shower." I said firmly, holding his gaze defiantly as he approached.

Before I could turn towards the bathroom he was there, crowding me backwards.  "No." he growled. "Not yet." I felt my eyes widen, I had never felt afraid, never thought this gentle, considerate man could ever hurt me. My muscles tensed and heart pounded in response. Before I could react, or even start to properly panic, his fingers twined into mine, gently pushing until the back of my hands, then my body was pinned along the cold wall. "Stay." The word came as a hot breath that caressed my chilled ear, shooting a sudden thrill down my spine. He moved against me, his feet steadying on the outside of mine, his face bowed, darkening the already dull room until all I could see was him.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

He ducked his head lower, nuzzling his nose along my jawline before dipping in towards my neck. I felt the soft, butterfly kiss of his warm lips against my damp skin, felt the firmness of his chest creating a strange, heady sensation of warm, wet heat where his body touched mine mixed with the cool, damp chill of the wall at my back.  Slowly, he drew our arms in an upwards arc, holding my hands carefully yet firmly above my head. Shifting further forward still, he pressed against me harder, my breath coming in short gasps as I felt the tension of his body suffuse into my own as if grounding himself. Finally, he pulled back fractionally, moving his head away and fixing me with a determined stare that sent a prickle of goosebumps coursing from head to toe.  As the first bolt of lightning flashed, framing him in white light that sparked silver in his eyes, he descended upon me; mouth over mine, needy, wanting, impatient. An assault of cigarette smoke, mint and rain.

I could barely breathe. His mouth claiming, controlling, dominating; his tongue licking, tasting, probing. Desperation built in the sounds rumbling from his chest and throat, mirroring the thunder rending the sky.  Releasing his right hand from mine, yet clasping them both now as strongly with just his left, he fitted it snugly over my breast. Rocking and rolling into my yielding flesh, his thumb and forefinger expertly latching onto my hardened nipple. The squeeze and press of his heated touch through the second skin of soaked material causing me to cry out softly, push forward into him, my own growing eagerness only intensified by my frustration and anger.  I tried to wriggle my hands free, needing to touch, to feel his body in return, but he just gripped harder, shaking his head slightly as he continued to kiss me senseless, his stubble grazing the smooth skin of my lips.  I writhed against him, trying to press against the hot, hard swell teasing my stomach, attempting to shift my feet from where they were caged between his, not yet willing to abandon all control.

He chuckled darkly into my mouth, hot breath puffing in and out, mingling with mine, entering my trachea, my bloodstream, my cells. I whimpered as his hand left my breast, abandoning my aching skin to the chill, sliding it damply downwards, leaving a trail of fire and ice in his wake. He continued his journey, slowly, deliberately, making me feel every single motion.  Fingers moving against the sodden material, pushing out water droplets as he went. I felt the steady trickle as they relinquished their hold on my hem and ran provocatively, ticklishly, down my leg.  His hand clasped around my thigh as he traversed the barrier of fabric, his left hand loosening on mine as his fingers gripped and mouth sucked harder at the sudden sensation of skin on skin. My arms ached with the lack of blood flow, only still in position due to his hold, muscles useless and totally dependent on his actions. Carefully he lowered them, my elbows bending helplessly, and then dropping once he let them go to briefly stroke the side of my face. Both panting, our breathing synchronous and laboured, he lowered his hand once more until both rested, one on either thigh. With a last kiss and nip at my lower lip he began to kneel, elegantly, lithely, every muscle controlled and fluid. At the same time, his hands pushed back up, under the fabric, wresting it from its clammy grip on my skin, contrasting cool dampness with wanton heat.  "Shhh," he soothed at my near sob,  his face buried into the ruck of fabric over my stomach. Slowly, delicately, inch by sensuous inch, his nimble fingers worked their way up, stroking along the crease of my hip, teasing at the lacy edge of my underwear.  Lightening flashed again as he eased the material away, moving ever onwards, eventually replacing chilled skin with a welcoming warmth.

His fingers, gladly finding their intended destination, pulled a moan from deep in my body. My hands sought purchase on his wet head, bracing myself against him, rebalancing my quivering muscles. He moaned in return, moving his head into my hold, encouraging my gentle movements, relishing in the care I took not to pull on his too-sensitive hair. He eased himself slightly backwards and nuzzled his shoulder against my left leg, encouraging me to move my foot, to allow his hand the deeper access he so desperately craved. I moved as bidden; totally lost in the thrall of sensation, the ache of want, the cold and the heat, the damp and the wet.  He was good at this and he knew it. Nature aiding and abetting him as the crash of thunder nearly overhead, and press of his skilled fingers towards the place I most wanted him to be, sent vibrations that had me jerking forward, clasping his head fast against my stomach, the muscles there contracting and holding; my shoulders tensed. Pressing inside, he moved knowledgeably, his fingers moving easily through the slick, tight heat. Depth and angle attuned to my every response, moving faster, in, out, over and over and more.

 

Suddenly, his hand was gone. In the moment it took me to catch my breath, to settle into the pleasant ache of building pressure, he moved like the lightening that flashed, the thunder booming soon after, creating turbulence in the heavy pressure of the air around us.  In those short seconds he had pulled down my sodden underwear, lifted one of my feet, then the other, so the flimsy lace lay limp and forgotten on the floor as he pushed my dress further up with both strong hands and plunged his mouth to my tingling nub. My legs began to shudder as he sucked and swirled, his angelic lips and tongue devilishly tearing me apart, as articulate in action as he is in words. He steadied me as my legs threatened to buckle, moving his hands from their hold near my hips down to my thighs, aligning his forearms along my sensitised skin, keeping me upright and enveloped.  He moaned as his tongue flicked further back, sending a vibration that had me crying out, pushing myself further onto his eager, seeking mouth.  The heat and pressure coiled in my core, every exhale a breathy moan, short and sharp or long and lingering, I pressed my head back against the cool of the wall, startling slightly at the reminder of damp coolness that had all but disappeared in the heat of his actions.  I moved my hands from his head, spreading my fingers along the sodden material covering his shoulders, feeling his muscles rolling under my touch, imagining the soft, freckled skin that covered them, knowing how they looked naked and tensed in use or soft in rest. Almost subconsciously I traced the lines of his trapezius up to its insertion points at the base of his occipital bone, where the short hairs of his nape lay flat and smooth. He shuddered and tipped his head back, eyes dark and hooded, mouth open and glistening. He raised himself to his feet slowly, my hands shifting from his shoulders and glancing down the firmness of his softly sculpted arm muscles; deltoid, bicep, brachioradialis.  He stared at me, panting and wanton for a moment before his hands flew to his belt, scrabbling wildly to release the buckle, button, fly. His usually nimble, capable hands shaking and uncoordinated as his brain raced ahead of his body, or his body outran his mind. He stumbled backwards as he eventually peeled the heavy, wet denim down his long, slender legs, kicking them hurriedly aside. My heart hammered faster and louder as I finally saw his full erection, glorified by the casing of clinging cotton.  I reached my hand out, eager to touch, to hold, but as my fingertips made contact with the heated wet material covering the silky steel solidity beneath, he brushed my hand away and removed the barrier with almost ferocious urgency. 

Crowding forward again, so close I could hardly distinguish his features in the darkened gloom of the storm-charged surroundings, he grabbed my naked arse, pushing into my flesh before moving both hands down, cupping firmly at the crease of my thigh.  He bent his head towards mine. Over the clamour of pounding rain, the thudding of my heart, the thrum of blood in my ears, and the first overhead crack of lightening and crescendo of instantaneous, convulsing thunder, his words tumbled into my ear. "I want you." His sonorous voice filtered into my mind, my body, my soul; dark, deep and needy. "Now."

 


	4. Chapter 4

My breath huffed out of me as I panted against him, "you are keen, my lord, you are keen." His sinuous arms tensed and lifted me fluidly, eagerly, my arms wrapping tightly around his neck in response. 

"It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge," he growled as he positioned my body over his eagerly waiting cock, his right hand steadying it in readiness, his left holding me tightly, pressing me hard against the wall. Quickly he lowered me onto him, grunting in contentment as his body entered mine.

"Still better, and worse." I cried out as he set up a relentless thrusting rhythm, abandoning himself completely to the overwhelming pulse of his desperation; giving himself over completely to instinct, to satisfying both our needs at a purely primitive, sexual level.  My nails scraped at his shoulders as I sought purchase on his back, trying to draw him in, closer, harder, wanting him to consume my body and mind completely. I could feel my spine bruising on the wall at the intensity of his movement; his animalistic urge to pound into me until he found his release.  His mouth dragged wetly across my face, my neck; not kisses, just open-mouthed, moaning, panting contact. It was all sensation: heat, cold, damp, wet, slick and drag, groans and thunder, sparks and lightning. The pressure of orgasm built deep within, sending coiling tendrils of heat and pleasure out to my chest, my arms, down through the deep nerves and muscles of my legs. I could feel his legs shaking as he rushed towards his own undoing, his clench on me tightening, his movements harder and less coordinated, his grunts and moans coalescing into a litany of mumbled curses and acclamations.  My own muscles shivered and jerked in response, my own sounds filling my head, the lightning whiting out my vision as the waves of passion and crescendo of nature broke all around and within us.  Heaven and earth clashing together as one.

He lowered me unsteadily to the ground, leaning his weight forward onto the wall, panting hard.  "Fucking hell," he giggled breathlessly as he kissed my mouth gently, brushing my damp hair off my face, "we should argue more often."

"Has he gone then?" I asked, running a finger down the centre of his heaving chest. "Your Danish prince?"

He grinned mischievously, "for now. Go and shower." he kissed my nose and left the room, still naked, as I stood panting against the wall, my soaked dress rucked up around my waist.

 

Clean and warm, I opened Ben's wardrobe and picked out my favourite t-shirt to wear.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, cocooned in his shirt, I combed my hair and listened to him humming happily in the kitchen. Rain still hammered heavily against the windows. The storm was moving away slightly, but had not yet abated, the air cooler and less charged but still holding an expectant thrum. Lightning flashed again, and he was there, outlined in the doorway like a god. I giggled as he stalked back towards the end of the bed, naked apart from a gold coloured crown emblazoned with plastic jewels sitting jauntily on his regally held head. He crawled up the bed and lay back against the plump pillows, ankles crossed and arms behind his neck, "say it," he challenged, his brow quirked in amusement.

"Say what?" I turned and lay next to him, the charge between us growing once more as the thunder continued to roll, "that you're a total arse?"

"No." He turned to face me, the crown slipping so it perched perilously over his forehead. Slowly he ran a gentle touch down my side, "you know what." His voice was honeyed, warm, sweet and molten as his words flowed over my skin, through my mind.  I shook my head and he sighed, sitting up and moving down the bed until he lay next to my feet.  He looked up at me with those eyes, silver rings surrounding newly bloomed obsidian orbs, obvious arousal blossoming again as he stroked and surveyed his kingdom. "Lady, shall I lay in your lap?" he purred with a grin.

"No, my lord." I replied with a roll of my eyes.

"I mean," he continued, crawling back up the bed, trailing a hand up my thigh to the crease of my hip, "my head upon your lap."

"Ay, my lord." I bit my bottom lip as he moved his hand over my iliac crest, then circled my belly button. His face came back close to mine and he bent to kiss my shoulder, moving aside the neck of his t-shirt to do so.

"Do you think I meant country matters?" he whispered, the teasing intent breathed into the hollow under my ear.  I wriggled slightly, unable to stop the shivers of temptation.

"I think nothing, my lord."  I smiled as I pulled away, sitting up to strip off the t-shirt before lying back next to him.

"That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs." His voice was dark and deep and his eyes hooded as he moved over me, edging my legs apart with his to slot gracefully between them. Lightning once again filled my sight with the sharp contrast of shadow enhancing his heavenly features.

"What is, my lord?" I breathed, reaching to bring his head down to mine.

"Nothing." the last sound of the word caressed my mouth before he kissed and claimed me once again.  The crown rolling onto the floor as the diminishing thunder rumbled around us.

It was slow this time. Gentle, sensual, unhurried. Reverential in his worship he moved easily, knowing where and when to change pace, how to make me clench my hands in the sheets so my knuckles whitened; how to make me buck and grind, push and pull, moan and plead. His mouth left my body on fire, nerves sparking and synapses firing as he kissed and licked and sucked my skin, rolled my nipples between his lips and tongue, ran his teeth along the edge of my clavicle.  I clasped my legs around his waist as my climax approached, enabling him to go a little deeper, pulling him into me more and more.  Bracing his weight on his right arm, he pulled my head to his chest with his left, holding me close as I shuddered and cried out beneath him, only lowering me as my body calmed and his arm shook. I still gripped him into me, meeting his frenzied movements as he chased his own orgasm, holding him tightly as he shuddered and swore, enjoying the sweet sensation of him pulsing deep within the core of my body.

We lay tangled together for a long while, listening to the receding storm, the lessening rain, the slowing of our own pulses. He laughed when my stomach rumbled, sitting and kissing the soft skin. "I made a Greek salad while you were in the shower. Come on. Let's go and eat."  He pulled on some jeans and an old t-shirt and I picked up the shirt from the floor and some clean underwear from my drawer.  It had stopped raining when I opened the French doors again, letting the clean, fresh air sweep through the flat.  I stepped back out onto the roof terrace, watched the drips fall from the leaves and petals of the plants, saw the clouds part to reveal the first stars of the night.  I tipped the wooden loungers to help drain the water faster, giving them a shake and setting them back down. I heard Ben approach, his strong arms wrapping around me from behind, pulling me close against his warm chest. "Next time it rains," he breathed into my ear, "I'm going to fuck you out here."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wet and angrybatch, wall sex, a crown - I think I've met all the criteria! There's also some interplay between Hamlet and Ophelia in there just because I couldn't resist! 
> 
> Thank you, Rebecca, it's been a lot of fun! 
> 
> Now I could continue with the weather ideas or I'm happy to write for other prompts....  
> ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


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